Satanic Takeover: Business of the 21st Century
by Dancer in the Dark
Summary: The events leading to the DOOM, DEMISE, and DESTRUCTION of the free world as we know it. JK. Really about Sandry, Briar, Daja, and Tris. Rated PG13 for some steamy love scenes. (S/B!! T/B!! D/B!! hehehe)
1. The Beginning of the Great Quest

This is by Dancer in the Dark (aka me) but The Shady Guru helped. (what is that name really?)  
  
Disclaimer: Hey, these aren't our characters; the names belong to Tamora Pierce. And by the way, we don't care if this is offensive, rude, and mildly gross. It is our religion, race, and right to write this crap. Any questions?  
  
  
  
The dry parched earth cracked under the heat of the noonday sun. And in the heat a wind blew, and on a mountainside a baby girl, named Sandry, was born.  
  
BANG!!  
  
A volcano exploded killing everyone, including the sheep that grazed merrily on the shady slopes of the beautiful mountain, and then the little girl, who was going to be the sole savior of all that is just and good, was burned to a black crisp in the ensuing lava flow. The End.  
  
Moral: If you're going to start a family, try not to do it on the side of a highly active volcano. You're asking for it.  
  
  
  
In a small shack, in the slums of the cities a boy was sitting, crying, in the dirt. His name would one day be Briar, but for now, as Roach, he only thought of the ball he had lost. Then, his five-year-old face filled with determination, he got up and ran into the road. Just as his hands closed around the prized possession, a crazed maniac driving the wrong way down a one-way street hit the poor child with his elephant.  
  
SPLAT!!  
  
Alas, the end of sweet Briar Moss  
  
Moral: Look both ways before you cross the street. Also, elephants and little boys don't mix well. In fact the driver wondered what the smell was after a few weeks.  
  
  
  
On a ship on the high and stormy South Seas, Daja Kisubo was running and laughing with her sisters. Her dark eyes shone with delight as she easily evaded their capture. However when her father called out her name, the shine disappeared. Now that she was ten years of age, she was old enough to help put down the anchor- a sacred Trader ritual. There was much singing and dancing, much joy, much wine, much, much, much wine. So much wine that no one noticed when dear little Daja's foot became entangled amidst the anchor's rope. And no one noticed when dear little Daja was thrown overboard and swiftly pulled DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, to bottom of the high and stormy South Seas.  
  
KAPLOOSH!!  
  
Oh well, such is life on the ocean. However, when they did pull up the anchor the next morning, they were horrified to find dear little Daja's body, half eaten by sharks by this time, still attached to the anchor's ropes. "Well," said Daja's dad. "You win some, you lose some." And that was the end of that.  
  
Moral: Daja is special; she's got the longest story yet. (Just to show we really aren't racist)  
  
  
  
Tris, good old Tris. Well she survived for a while anyway. In fact on her sixteenth birthday, she poked her finger on a spinning wheel and… oops that's sleeping b. Never mind. Tris was propelled forward in time to about the year 1692 (Don't ask how that is forward.) right into the thriving community of Salem Village, Mass. (Three guesses to what happens next) She was hired as the first female judge of the trials, wrote a book called Female Judges in 1692, made millions, and then fell off a cliff while contemplating the mysteries of the universe.  
  
WHOOSH!!  
  
Moral: Don't try this at home, kids.  
  
  
  
P.S. The world was now doomed and well, Satan took over which brings us right up to about today. The 1st amendment is a great thing. Yeah, we have issues, and way, way, way too much free time, despite out plans for a hostile world takeover Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Come Again! 


	2. Funeral of the Four (Bring a handkerchie...

"Sadly, our heroes (and heroines) are no more. Their lives had ended tragically before they had even begun. They had hoped for laughter, but found only tears. They had hoped for pleasure, but found only pain. They had hoped for salvation, but found only suffering. They had hoped for wide screen TVs, but found only a transistor radios. They had hoped to have large families and settle in a prosperous suburban neighborhood in New Jersey (yes, there is a NJ in Emelan- there is always a New Jersey. And that brings up the thought, "What is Old Jersey like? Is it just as sad?"), but found only their pathetic demises in lava, rampaging elephant(s), drunken anchor supervisors, and overly high elevations. They had hoped for applause, but found only crickets chirping in the midnight silence under the full moon the night after the annual Wicca festival. (Um, Dancer? Anyway…) They had hoped for love, but had not even had time to find hatred. They had hoped for power, but found only weakness. They had hoped for blue skies, but found only foul weather. They had hoped for friendship everlasting, but alas, it ended.  
  
On this day we would gather to weep for our heroes and heroines (See? Nor are we sexist.) But we have corporate meetings, business luncheons, bullshit benefits, and a race to save the universe, which we ourselves are corrupting, with our terrible business policies. That and I have a 5:30 appointment with my psychic Cleo- you can see her ads on TV- and she says that funerals aren't my lucky gigs. In other words- let's blow this joint."  
  
-from the speechy-thingy-might-start-with-an-o-or-an-e-thingy-that-people- usually-say-at-funerals of Sandry, Briar (never to be), Daja, and Tris.  
  
(Don't ask how the four came to be buried together despite their never having met, but Cleo says that that sort of thing often happens. Call it destiny.)  
  
  
  
  
  
Authors' note: And we'll bet you think this is the end. Who knows? Only Cleo. (I dunno- I've always wanted to call her. How bout you Guru?)  
  
Moral: You never know. (Actually, this is interesting. It could apply to many things. Such as when this story will finally end. Or even when these perentheses will finally end. They could just keep going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going and going… but they won't. Or maybe they will…. Mwahahahahahahahahahaha!!) However, you see, we're still writing! Maybe we'll add another chapter sometime after this just to throw you off with the continuing stupidity.  
  
(Okay guru, we gotta stop. Gotta stop. Gotta stop. Gott  
  
*Guru grabs keyboard away from Dancer and begins to wildly beat her over the head with it-- (Dancer interjects between screams of pain, "Ablative of Means!") (Shoutout to all the Latin Losers out there!) --Wait, no she doesn't beat Dancer over the head with the keyboard in an act of pure hatred and passionate wrath, because we're not violent, or sexist, or racist, or ageist, or intelligentist, or sizeist, or anything like that.*  
  
  
  
You know, we really have to end this right now. It has to stop. End the madness!! It must not go on. It should end, it should cease, desist, terminate, conclude, wrap up, halt, finish, breathe its last rasping breath and die.  
  
And now it ends.  
  
P.S. funeral for the story can be read in the next chapter… 


	3. Not really the funeral of the story... s...

Dancer and Guru here, and ready to write. (Really, where did you get that name?)  
  
However before the wonderful madness continues we must stock up on caffinated beverages (coke) and while we are away, why don't you see what our critics said. Some people seemed to like it… others not so much.  
  
  
  
Dancer in the Dark (my sister was writing this review):  
  
Boy, oh boy, does this chapter stink. To high heaven. It stinks like the month-old stench of a small boy trampled by an elephant and then scraped off with a spatula by a bevy of lice-infested crows who, by the way, also stink. You two should think up another kinky death method and then try it yourselves . . . cliff jumping already being taken, I suggest . . . well, whacking yourselves with whatever comes most readily to hand. There's a funeral I'll actually attend.  
  
P.S. This is not Dancer reviewing herself - she may be pitiful, but not quite that bad. Oh, no . . . this is her older sister - Much cooler, I know.  
  
  
  
LizDarcy:  
  
Weird and confusing and a little bit off the wall, but oddly enough, I found myself liking it. Can't wait to read the next twisted (hope it's twisted as the other two) chapter.  
  
Remember~~~~ SMILE!!! :)  
  
Oh, P.S. Why won't you accept anonymous reviews? I can't understand the mentality of people who don't. So, in next chapter, if you'll explain, I'd greatly appreciate it. THANKS!! :)  
  
  
  
  
  
Dancer: Thanks Liz, we like you, my sister not so much. Oh and for your question, it was a horrible, life-threatening mistake on Guru's part (grrrrrrrrrr) however we will forgive her and forget our all consuming, towering, monstrous, gargantuan, and overly large anger towards her so we can continue to write.  
  
Guru: OK, right. You can believe that if you like. I'm willindyEg  
  
Dancer: I have gained control of the keyboard… THE WORLD IS MINE!!!!-  
  
Guru: I think not, oh small one, for it is I who have the keyboard now.  
  
*Bang, Whap, Smash, "OW!!", "#@$@^$#^#@", Crack, CRASH!!!*  
  
Guru: Damn you, Salazar!!!  
  
Dancer: You w-i-l-l n-o-t t-r-i-u-m-p-h (dashes because guru has the mouse cord around my neck and it is getting continually harder to breathe)  
  
Guru: OK. This is getting a little too crazy, even for us… Back to our story.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ten years passed (from the funeral) and a small girl was walking about in the shady, sheep filled glen behind the church of her old country town where our heroes and heroines lay buried. This small girl's name was Jesua and she had the power to remember what every human had thought and felt and seen for all eternity. Well, she had something on her mind- as she walked through the shady, sheep filled glen behind the church of her old country town where our heroes and heroines lay buried, and it was a very big something. She knew that this year would be different. Pa wouldn't lose the crop to grasshoppers, locusts, beetles, rain, hail, early blizzards, fungus, crows, etc. but that instead he would harvest a hundred bushels and be rich. And as she walked through the graveyard in the quiet morning stillness she prayed to the good lord(s) that this would be so and that when she returned to her town's old country one-room schoolhouse, she would return with a ruler twice as shiny as Margie McFae's, shoes twice as shiny, and a hat three times as flowery that her good Ma would sew out of fine store bought cloth.  
  
Well. Isn't that a mighty fine request? However, poor Jesua Binks was in for a dreadful surprise. The good lord had something different planned for her. Granted she was right about the grasshoppers, locusts, beetles, rain, hail, early blizzards, fungus, and crows but she wasn't right about the shiny new ruler, or the fine black shoes, or the flowery hat. Good lord was she wrong. The lord, who is kind and merciful but still won't let you do jack without putting you into a fiery pit to writhe, and burn, and scream in agony for ever after (don't worry he still loves you), knew that Jesua (whose name is a whole lot like good old J.H.Christ) would have to fill in the role of our fab four, who were currently resting about six feet below. That's right she was going to be the sole savior of all that is good and just in the world. But see, she didn't know that and believe me it was agoin to be a mighty big surprise.  
  
Little Jesua was throwing her little ball across the yard and bouncing it off the gray church walls. And suddenly through a break in the clouds a beam of light broke through and landed right in front of Jesua Binks. Held in holy awe of this divine radiance, this heavenly luminosity, she was unable to move (much like a deer in headlights) and something was floating down the beam of brightness. Could it be an angel from on high?  
  
  
  
I think not. It was a band of extremely hostile extra-terrestrials who flew on flying bicycles and took her to their planet as part of their inter- galactic zoo. She was the most popular exhibit too. Luckily for mankind, God still has a few tricks up His (or Her) sleeve. In the mean time give the world some love. 


	4. O to see him run shirtless!

Dancer: Personally, I've gotten bored of making up random characters and having them die or be abducted by hostile space aliens (see chapter 3). So we're going to try something different. We're going to let them live. *GASP*  
  
I know. Anyway, maybe these characters won't be high and holy saviors but they will be good, wholesome people, who are saving the world in their own special way (I know, what losers). Let us begin with the Oak family. Mother Oak stood tall and proud, she had survived hundreds of generations of human folly. She had also watched her saplings cut down for wood by cruel loggers. "Yes," she thought. "Loggers are cruel." You'd think that after 400 years of life she'd be a wit brighter but then again she was a slow, quiet, peaceful type of tree and enjoyed pondering. Mother Oak, however, did not seem very peaceful when it came to humans. She hated them and wished that they would fail. So she told her little minions (squirrels) the vicious, little spawn of Satan, to throw acorns at unsuspecting people when they walk home. She spread her roots deep underneath the ground and threw off plumbing lines and roads, etc. But there was one small ounce of compassion in the hell beast, she loved when little Sally Dickers came and sat beneath her leafy boughs. Yes, mother oak loved little Sally, with all her wooden heart.  
  
But Sally, like every other human, was growing up. She needed a house, and shelter, and family of her own. But she still loved Mother Oak. So Sally changed her named to Oak (Sally Oak) and adopted small starving children from the country of Starvingchildrenwithhorriblediseaseandotherdeadlyproblemsincludingmadreligio usfigureslargepublicexucutionsandalifeexpectancyofabouttwentyfiveastan (read slowly and you'll figure it out, Hint: it is the name of a country I made up). She named all the children names like Drop of Rain, or Blade of Grass, or Bark of Tree, etc. and lived happily for the time being. Then one day things changed. On their weekly hike up the mountainside, quite near the pleasant ruin of the church where the four were buried, beautiful Bud of Roses discovered a vine. This vine was like no other vine she had every seen before. So she quickly called Oak and bid her to come there and help. This vine was growing and twisting in such a way that one would suspect it was much more alive than any other vine. In fact it was so alive it seemed like a person. Sally shook it off as another wonderful affect of the many drugs she took to relive the stress of being relaxed. But Rose looked at that vine and felt a seed of love grow in her heart. Of real love, the type she had never known before. So she sat down and began to talk to the bush. Her siblings believed her crazy, and left her for the wolves and they came, tore apart the vines, and devoured her who- NO! She will LIVE! DANCER STOP IT! (Sorry, my desperate desire to kill off all characters must be suppressed. Don't worry Rose doesn't die.) The vine held her safely and threw out shoots that shielded her from the wolves, who were of a vegetarian clan anyway.  
  
And as the night came Rose fell asleep and the vines drew back exposing her to the night air before covering her completely and fading away leaving the clearing as empty as my heart after HE left, leaving me desolate and alone crying my eyes out on the cold stone floor, yearning to touch his face and- oops that is a different story.  
  
And dawn came shining her golden face upon the world and the clearing. And the woods were quiet and peaceful, but with a heightened tension that all could feel. Something strange had happened and it wasn't done happening yet.  
  
Well, the next week a boy could have been seen running through the bracken and underbrush. His clothes were torn and muddy from the swiftness of his flight. His name was John, and he was tall, blonde, and blue eyed. Deep soulful blue eyes, just like HE had. I often remember staring deep into those eyes, whispering promises of forever to each other… *sigh* Sorry. Back to the story.  
  
John was running, running like the runner he was. Beautiful legs outstretched in perfect harmony with his lanky body. O to see him run! He had been caught with the mayor's daughter and now the mayor had his whole pack of hunting dogs on his trail. Luckily this was not the first time this sort of thing had happened so John knew exactly what to do. He crossed multiple rivers, climbed some trees, and had left his shirt behind to put them on the wrong trail. O to see him run shirtless!  
  
He came upon the old church and ducked inside. The skies threatened to rain and he needed shelter. "At least," he thought, "the rain will wash away my scent." He was about to curl up in a dusty corner when he saw it. It was a plain and peaceful blue but it was still so unlike anything else in the room that it made him stop and stare for a minute. He crept nearer and picked it up, feeling its soft texture in his palms. It was a blanket (hmm what could possibly be happening now) and he curled up beneath it before going to sleep. The clouds broke and rain poured down on the empty church.  
  
And dawn came shining her golden face upon the world and the stone room. And the church was quiet and peaceful, but with a heightened tension that all could feel. Something strange had happened and it wasn't done happening yet.  
  
  
  
Authors' Note(s):  
  
Guru writing: Don't worry, this will get funny again soon. Give it another few chapters. We still have to finish with the disappearing people. Don't even bother asking about HIM. When HE left it was too painful. I cannot bear to think about it any more. Anyway. John, we're a little obsessed. He is based on- no, he IS a real life person who we both know, and yeah. We both have mad crushes. O, to see him run shirtless!!  
  
Dancer writing: Sorry people, I can't help with the whole "HE" thing, Guru's strange that way. However I can shed some light on the name "Guru". She got it from a website that makes up nicknames. Mine was "Electric Cowgirl" and "John's" was Amazing Cowboy! I know I'm a crazy freak. But so what. Yeah.  
  
Guru: OK, Dancer is making way too big of a deal about my name. I just couldn't think of anything better. Oh, one more thing about "John". No, that is not his real name. We would not do that. We fear being discovered.  
  
Dancer: But DAMN! Is that one fine piece of ass!  
  
Guru: Please! Keep it PG(13)! 


	5. The Blacksmith

Nathan was a blacksmith with bulging arms and dark black skin. He worked in the small town of Vera nestled in gentle green mountain slopes. He also served as the main police officer of the town because he could take any man and win, easily. Nathan was overly proud of his muscle and boasted that the damn devil himself couldn't whip him. Right about now Nathan was chasing some street rat that had had the audacity to fool with the mayor's daughter. But damn, this boy was fast. "No matter," thought Nathan. "When I gets 'im I'm agoin t' make sure he don't run no more!" So Nathan had gone into the woods thinking these (A/N: hahaha) savage thoughts and muttering about the mayor's daughter leading every man on, except him of course. Nathan W. Green fell for no girl's tricks. No sir!  
  
But now thinks were getting dark, and Nathan didn't like the dark. He pulled up the collar of his coat and adjusted the grip on his rifle, talking to himself angrily to keep up his spirits. "That boy deserves a shot in the leg, and I'll give to him. Yup, I'll give it to him." Behind him a gentle wind began to blow, brushing his dark curls about his forehead, and caused him to reach deep into his coat pockets and pull out a rumpled felt thing, that he proudly called a hat. The cold and the gentle soothing breeze were working their magic on him, for he felt a sudden tiredness and aching wash over him like waves on the shore. (A/N: hehehe) He yawned and reasoned with himself that the boy wasn't going far so he was rightfully entitled to a rest, a long one at that. He settled comfortably against a tall lone oak tree in a small meadow and pulling his hat over his eyes, promptly fell asleep. Suddenly, and silently, a massive tidal wave swept over the once peaceful field and when the waters had subsided there was nothing left but the unharmed grasses and a rumpled felt "hat". (A/N: who knows where the tidal wave came from, but it was happy there. And after all that is what really matters. Who can really ask for more than that in this life? And who would really deny the single wish of a tidal wave, if it only wished to be in that one meadow? *Tear drips from eye* Oh, and John, although he was asleep nearby (perhaps) he was unaffected by the excessive but concentrated amount of liquid H2O)  
  
And dawn came shining her golden face upon the world and the meadow. And the field was quiet and peaceful, but with a heightened tension that all could feel. Something strange had happened and it wasn't done happening yet.  
  
  
  
(A/N: hohoho. Yup we got a review from Santa- read our reviews cause they're funny too. So in honor of that here's a joke for you all.)  
  
Q: What did the dyslexic Satan worshiper do?  
  
A: He sold his soul to Santa! *Dancer wailing with laughter rolling around on the floor, cracking up at her own joke*  
  
Okay since that was so much fun, here's another one for y'all…  
  
Q: What were Socrates last words?  
  
A: "I drank what"  
  
Oh, in case you didn't get that, Socrates was an ancient Greek philosopher who went against the government's wishes and was forced to commit suicide by drinking the juice hemlock an extremely toxic plant 


	6. The Scholar

Malek Van 'Forn, scholar and traveler, rode slowly into the sleepy village of Andov and clambered off his horse. The very air of the countryside had made him feel drowsy too and he dearly wished he could stop in for a rest at the local inn. He wore simple clothes, tan breeches, a simple shirt, and a dark brown cloak, and had closely cropped black hair. He was young to be a scholar, only seventeen, but he would have chosen any profession to escape his father's house. He pulled sharply on the reins of the steed that fell into a gentle plod beside him. "Hasn't move a wit faster the entire trip," Malek thought bitterly to himself. As Malek rounded the corner onto the main road a young man came tearing past him. The man's shirt was ripped and dirty, stained with sweat. The blond headed youth (A/N: Guess whom!) tripped over a cobblestone and went flying to the ground swearing profusely. He scrambled up and kept running, obviously heading for the trees. Malek stood there shocked into stillness when four men waving clubs came running after the boy. They were all shouting incoherently about mayor's honor, and punishment. Malek turned back to his horse and the horse tossed his head as if to say, "your guess is as good as mine." Malek smiled at the thought of his less then brilliant mount actually speaking, and then tugged on reins again.  
  
Malek came upon the inn and was depressed with what he saw. A peeling red sign hung above an almost shattered doorway featuring the words The Four Corners. "Wow," Malek said out loud to the door. "I sure hope the rooms are cheap. He tided the trusty old stallion to a pole and ordered not to move, before climbing through the large hole in the door into a dark, dusty, and clearly closed inn. With a laugh Malek turned and called for his horse. The old beast came in taking the rest of the door with him, while Malek kicked some straw into one of the corners for a bed. Then, leaving the horse to tuck himself in, Malek climbed the stairs and turned into the first door. Satisfied with the room Malek spread his bedroll before the fireplace, lit the fire, and reached deep into his bags for dinner and a book. Malek the scholar was soon settled deep into mysterious tales of the unknown. Occasionally he reached for the poker and stirred the fire until it danced casting eerie shadows on the walls. Immersed in his book Malek forgot the fire and continued reading until his eyelids drooped and his head slumped down onto the book, before sliding to the floor directly by the fire. The fire began to crackle and curl. From the depths of the flames a red hand of fire reached hesitantly out and curled about Malek before hurrying back into the hearth. Then the fire roared once and leaped from it's log bed enveloping Malek entirely and when it pulled back the floor was empty and only sound was the soft breath of the sleeping horse a floor below.  
  
And dawn came shining her golden face upon the world and the inn. And the room was quiet and peaceful, but with a heightened tension that all could feel. Something strange had happened and it wasn't done happening yet. 


	7. Brightest star in a pale dawn sky above ...

Rose was the first to awaken (remember she was abducted a few chapters back). She sat up expecting to see the beautiful woodland clearing basking in the morning light. Instead she saw blue walls (A/N: Like those of an insane asylum. Our school has recently been painted that way- pretty scary.), large white curtains billowing in some unseen wind, and three other white sheeted beds with people in them. Other than that the commodious (A/N: nice vocab Dancer! It means spacious) room was entirely empty. Rose did the only thing that seemed natural at the time- she screamed. It was then that the other three awoke suddenly and joined in adding their voices to the harmony. Four people rushed into the room and burst into laughter upon seeing that nothing was wrong. "We thought you'd never wake up!" giggled a pretty blonde haired girl. The only boy among the group chuckled at the startled faces and wide eyes. "Don't look at us like that. We're the normal ones around here." Malek, always the studious type, piped up. "What do you mean, 'here.' Where is here?" "Our world," replied a redhead with a book under her arm. "The afterlife." She gave off the intense impression of someone not often wrong. She had distinctive feeling of a brewing storm, of waves showering a shore, and of a lecturer. "We called you here because we need you to help us." The tall black girl corrected her with a grin. "No, we want them to help themselves and their own world. We were just getting bored and pitied you guys." The redhead fumed at being corrected and gave a practiced glare to the four in beds as if warning them not to do the same. Then the blonde clapped her hands and four trays floated from the ceiling down to the beds. "Refresh yourselves. Then we'll explain things." All four turned towards the door. "Wait," cried Rose. "We don't even know your names." "Oh! I'm Sandry," said the blonde. "I'm Tris," said the redhead and gestured to the third girl. "This is Daja." "I'm Briar," said the boy with a grin as he slammed the door leaving all in the ward alone once more.  
  
A/N: We're sorry about the lack of author's notes. The next chapter will be chock full of sarcastic comments. We just want to get things moving with the whole plot thing. Yes, believe it or not, one exists. Just like He existed, something beyond perfection, almost dreamlike. Sorry it was so long to get updated, but then again we are the artists, and we don't make our works for the mass enjoyment. We make them for the sake of art. And as an added bonus we get to put all grammatical errors down as creativity. In fact, we may never spell anything correctly again! What fun! 


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